Court of the Vampire Queen: Part 3 – Chapter 39

I don’t know what state Azazel transported us to. I couldn’t guess the name of the midsized town I drive into under pain of death. But I manage to find a pair of bars before too long. I park and study them. One is a dive bar with a faded sign that’s completely unreadable in the deepening dark, even to my dhampir eyes. The other is newer and already has a crowd of people on the patio surrounded by dangling white string lights.

That’ll do.

I glance down at myself. I didn’t pause to put myself together before leaving the house—or the motel. My jeans are faded and I’ve started to wear holes in the knees. My black T-shirt is clean, but with how tired I look, I won’t be winning any beauty contests.

How am I supposed to convince people to come with me? How am I supposed to choose?

If Malachi doesn’t trust himself to drink from me, he must be famished. Rylan and Wolf were no better. There’s a decent chance whatever human I bring back to the house will never leave again. That I’ll be sentencing whoever I pick to death.

I grip the steering wheel and exhale slowly. I knew the cost when I came here. Waffling and feeling guilty won’t change anything. If it’s the choice between the men I love or a few strangers? I already know where I stand. It’s not moral and it’s not right, but I can’t bring myself to care. I have not come this far, allowed so much sacrifice, only to balk now.

In the end, it’s so much easier than I would have thought.

No one asks for my ID when I walk through the door. Inside is much like the outside: vaguely trendy and ultimately soulless. I could be anywhere. The tables and bar are packed, but everyone seems to be sticking to groups rather than mingling as a whole. I can work with this…I think.

I find a spot at the corner of the bar and order a beer on tap because it’s the cheapest thing on the menu. The smell makes my stomach twist, but I force myself to wrap my hands around the glass and take a deep breath. I can do this. I don’t have a choice. I just need a moment to figure out a plan.

I don’t get a chance.

Two men slide up on either side of me. Too close. I might not be human and even I know that. They’re almost touching me, their bodies angled in almost like they’re attempting to pin me between them without touching me. They both look rough around the edges, and the alcohol on their breath is even stronger than the scent wafting from the beer in front of me.

I tense. “You’re standing too close.”

“Haven’t seen you around here before, beautiful,” the one on the left says. He’s got a voice like he smokes a pack a day. He certainly reeks of tobacco.

I half turn to face him. If I were human, I would have missed the movement of his friend at my back. I never would have seen him drop a tablet into my beer. It disappears almost immediately, fizzling out as it descends to the bottom of the glass. It happened so fast. Fast enough to make me suspect they’ve done this before.

The guilt I’ve harbored since leaving my men behind disintegrates. I’m not one to play judge, jury, and executioner to humans, but if these two think to play predator, I’ll show them they aren’t the scariest thing in this bar.

It’s pathetically easy to pretend to drink the beer. Really, the most challenging part is not throwing up from the scent of it. Halfway through, I let myself list a little to the side. Mr. Right Side is there to catch me, sliding a beefy arm around my waist. “Looks like someone’s had too much.”

Mr. Left Side chuckles. “Better see her safely home.” He even goes so far as to pay for my beer. What a gentleman. The bartender gives them a knowing look, which only serves to set my teeth on edge. They have done this before. I’d stake my life on it. I mostly keep my feet, but I force myself to half-limp, letting them take my weight.

I understand the bartender’s look a few minutes later when they haul me out of the bar and we find him waiting around back. He brushes his hands off on his pants. “Let’s make this quick. I only have fifteen minutes.”

I don’t feel guilty at all as I strike.

I might be no match for Malachi and Rylan and Wolf in the sparring ring, but these three are only human. They barely have time to react before I deliver harsh blows to their temples. Not quite enough to kill them—at least I don’t think so—but they go down in boneless heaps.

“You fuckers,” I spit on the ground. I want to kick them a few times for good measure but if the bartender only had fifteen minutes to get up to no good, then I have fewer than that before someone comes looking for him.

I hurry to the truck and drive it around back. All three of them are still unconscious as I toss their bodies into the bed of the truck and get out of there as quickly and quietly as possible. The drive back to the house seems to take forever, but at least it’s easy enough to remember the route.

As I take the dirt road toward the house, I wait for guilt to sweep over me. I didn’t hesitate. Even if they hadn’t trying to hurt me, I would have let them think they’d seduced me into going home with them. The end result would be the same. I get no points just because they turned out to be rotten to the core.

The guilt never comes.

Malachi and the other two are nearly exactly where I left them. They’ve separated a bit, but they don’t seem to have the strength to even climb onto the couches. A sliver of fear goes through me but I don’t pause long enough to indulge in it. They have to be okay. I can’t let myself go down a mental road where they aren’t. Once they feed, they’ll feel better. I’m sure of it. “We’re going to stain the rug, but there’s no help for it.”

Wolf cracks his eyes open. “What did you do, love?”

“What I needed to.” No point in explaining beyond that. I go back outside and start hauling the unconscious men inside. It’s only as I dump the final unconscious man next to Malachi that I register the fact I haven’t felt the need for a nap since arriving at this house. Before this point, I was taking three naps a day, sleeping more than I was awake. I’ve been going for hours and still feel relatively fresh.

Apparently Azazel was onto something with that supplemental shield, though I’ll be damned before I admit as much to him. If I ever see him again, that is. It’s probably better if I don’t.

Though I half expect the men to continue questioning me, hunger prevails. Wolf moves first, grabbing the bartender and biting deep. The man groans softly but doesn’t stir. Good. It’s one thing to attack them when they intended to attack me first. I don’t know how I’d feel about them struggling and begging for their lives now.

Then again, these are bloodline vampires we’re talking about. Their bites bring great pleasure. After that first contact, no one is fighting anything. They’re too busy riding the waves of desire and begging for more.

I certainly was.

It takes less time than one would expect to drain a human body of blood. By the end of it, we have three corpses and all three men look much closer to themselves. I am almost convinced I can see their faces start to look healthier, their gauntness melting away.

Malachi surges to his feet and pulls me into his arms. “Are you hurt?”

My laugh feels a little broken. I’m not the one who has spent nearly a week in my father’s not so tender care. I might be permanently nauseous, but the worst I’ve had to deal with is Grace being cranky in the mornings and throwing up everything I eat. Small things by comparison. “I’m better off than you were.”

“Azazel—”

“I’m not the one who paid the price,” I cut in. I twist to see Rylan climbing to his feet, almost human slow. “Grace did. She chose it.”

He sighs. “I was worried that would happen once I realized who Wolf was summoning. Her mother and Azazel have a history. I thought I could keep the knowledge from her, but this outcome was always likely.”

“Who did you think I was summoning?” Wolf brushes his hands down his thighs. “There are only so many demons who can cross into our realm and you know it. I can count them on one hand, and half of them haven’t been seen in a hundred years.”

“Likely because Azazel killed them to corner the market for himself.”

“Maybe.” Wolf shrugs. He turns to me, uncharacteristically serious. “We’re going to get rid of these bodies and then it’s time to talk, love.”

Malachi’s arms tighten around me. “Yes.”

They’re right that we need to talk, but that doesn’t make me look forward to the pending conversation more. There’s no strange misty place to sweep us apart when things get awkward, and things are guaranteed to get awkward. I compelled Wolf against his will and then I summoned Azazel even though they told me not to. That’s not even getting into the whole pregnancy thing.

At least we’re back together again. We haven’t made any progress with removing the threat my father poses, but he no longer has access to three bloodline vampires. To three men I love.

I shiver and Malachi pulls me closer yet. “Sit down, little dhampir. We’ll deal with this. You’ve done enough for now.”

It doesn’t feel like I’ve done much of anything at all. I ran when they were captured. I let Grace do all the heavy lifting of recon and surveying my father’s compound while I puked up my guts in the motel room. I couldn’t even summon Azazel correctly. And then Grace paid the price of my bargain. Gods, I even needed Azazel to do some kind of special ward to keep the pregnancy from draining me dry.

I’ve never felt more worthless in my life. A feat, that. After growing up a powerless dhampir in my father’s compound, I didn’t think I could sink to lower depths. Apparently I was too optimistic.

But there’s no time for self-pity. “I can help.”

“You have helped.” He lets me step away from him, though he runs his hands down my arms and links his fingers through mine. Malachi frowns. “You’ve lost weight.”

“So have you.” A deflection, and not even a good one at that.

He frowns harder. “Mina.”

Wolf and Rylan stalk back through the door. They’re moving better now, quickly, less humanlike. It’s almost enough to convince myself the last week didn’t happen. I know better, though. I step away from Malachi and sink onto the couch. There’s not so much as a blood stain on the floor. Waste not, want not. I swallow down a hysterical feeling giggle. Shock. It’s just shock.

“Don’t feel guilty, love.” Wolf drops down next to me and throws his arm across the couch at my back. “Humans live so few years. We cut their lives a bit short, but they were always going to be short.”

“I don’t feel guilty.” Not for their deaths. I would wager a small fortune that those three have harmed more people than I care to think about. Now they won’t harm anyone ever again. That said, I’m not overly keen on Wolf’s blasé attitude. “I might live one of those short mortal lifespans. Should we just kill me right now and get it over with?”

“You won’t.” Rylan perches on the coffee table across from me, close enough that his knees press against mine.

Malachi takes the spot on my other side. For the first time, bracketed in by my men, I can finally breathe again. My chest voice goes wobbly. “I was so worried about you.”

“You got us out,” Rylan says, gray eyes direct. “Now tell us exactly how and everything that happened in the meantime.”

It takes longer than it should. My ridiculous urge to cry only gets stronger with each point I relay, but their presence gets me through it. By the time I finish, Rylan hasn’t so much as moved, Malachi is cursing quietly under his breath, and Wolf’s eyes are flickering crimson.

I clear my throat. “Stop it. All of you. You look like you want to comfort me and I’m not the one who spent the last week starved and tortured.” The starved point is blatant, but I know my father well enough to know the latter is true as well. With three new toys to play with and break, he wouldn’t have been able to resist.

“Sound like you’ve been plenty starved,” Malachi rumbles. “We fucked up, Mina. I’m sorry. You never should have been left alone.”

Rylan looks away, something akin to guilt shifting over his handsome features. “I shouldn’t have left. My overconfidence meant you weren’t protected. I—”

My chest goes hot and tight. “No. We’re not doing this. We’re not going to play self-recrimination and passing the blame around. If it wasn’t my fault, then it wasn’t your fault, either. My father outplayed us. Now we have to make sure he doesn’t get a chance to do it again.” I drag in a breath. “We can’t keep running. He’ll just catch us again and then we’ll be right back where we started.” Without Grace to act as convenient willing victim and pay my debts for me. I straighten a bit, feeling grounded for the first time since, well, everything. “We have to strike before he has a chance to regroup.”